Loneliness? An Unlikely Lifeline OLIVIA “LIV” ASH, ESQ., MS
2017
Chit chat is all I could hear as my footing faltered and lightheadedness blossomed. I saw the group ahead of me, yet Professor D. reviewed the exam content for the upcoming focused all energy towards my hand on the banister. Only a few more steps to the ground floor. final, and it read like a CVS receipt. Dammit. I’m not ready, not even close. I don’t understand it,and have nothing left. What am I going to do? The ring of black closed in; my body heated like water in a kettle, and sounds began to fade to the background. A classmate looked me in the face, smiled, and said something. I was desperate for space. I nodded a pleasantry in return, gathered my items, and exited the side door - a shorter distance to the bathroom - while most students exited via the back doors. Finding a niche, I doubled over, struggling for breath, as I willed the black to “back off.” I hid myself from view as best I could (a skill learned in law school) for privacy and to regain composure. It’s one of those tactics everyone learns the hard way, but nobody tells you during the orientation tour. I waited until the flock of classmates had dissipated. My plan was, like a burglar, to cover a lot of ground in a short time through swift, purposeful movements. Like threading a needle, I’d whip around the central staircase, stride diagonally across the atrium to the student entrance, then beeline for the safety of the parking lot while breathing in the fresh, cold, night air. Composed, yet restraining what was sure to be a torrent of tears, I rounded the corner and ran into a group of stragglers. They smiled and chatted; though I attempted both, alarms blared internally as I monitored my vitals. I hesitated, slowing my pace to match theirs, yet remained at the back of the group. “Liv, are you okay?” The books I held slid forward as I crumpled towards the ground like burned paper turning to ash. And just before I I wish I was alone. fell flat, a classmate caught me. The group of ladies, like hens, They moseyed, they laughed, and I tried to keep it together. began pouring words over me to encourage rest. I nestled into Every fiber of my being shook with glass-like fragility as we the railing and noted how cold the stone step felt against my descended the stairs. I feared another minute in the building panicked body. and I’d shatter into a million tiny pieces. I don’t remember the details following my body’s protest to protracted stress, yet eventually, I drove home that night. The One more flight. 26
